Aftermath
by aMUSEment345
Summary: One shot. A short cap to 'Penelope'. JJ doesn't seem fazed, and Reid is worried.


**Aftermath**

 _Nice going, Reid. Once again, you've misread the beautiful blonde._

He looked out at the shattered remnant of the door that led into their bullpen, and then slowly ran his eyes over to the desk where she sat.

JJ.

Alone. Silent. _Not_ troubled. Not visibly, anyway.

 _I can't believe it. It was only a few months ago I was playing all macho, running to defend her honor when that girl spit at her. A_ girl. _A young one, at that. No wonder she brushed me off. I'm lucky she didn't laugh at me._

Jennifer Jareau had just taken her first kill shot. And it had been exactly that. A _kill_ shot. She'd fired, through glass, directly into the skull of their unsub. No hesitation. Obviously no thought to maim, but fully intending to kill. And, perhaps most troubling to Reid, she looked calm, in the aftermath.

 _Calm. Collected. Quiet, maybe. But….._

He watched as Penelope Garcia approached JJ and the two seemed to exchange a few words. Then they hugged, and JJ gave her friend a smile that was both wry and encouraging at the same time.

He knew, from his own experience, what would come next. The debriefing, the reports, the psychological evaluation that came any time a life was taken by a law enforcement officer.

 _I hope she's up to it._

Wondering, on a deep level, if she would be. Because, if he'd learned nothing else about Jennifer Jareau in the few years they'd worked together, he'd learned that she ran deep.

 _Still waters, they say. She keeps things to herself. Doesn't let anyone in. Well, except me, maybe, sometimes. And maybe Penelope. But, even then…._

He wondered again, as he often had before, if she shared with him only because she had no fear that he would share with anyone else.

 _She thinks I'm benign._ Benign _ **.** Hardly 'rescuer material'. It's not like she'd ever look to me for help She sees me as the one in _ need _of help._

JJ was proud, he'd come to learn that. Not proud of any of her abilities, although she was confident in them. But she was proud, in that she hated…. _hated_ …..to show weakness. To anyone. At any time.

And yet, there was that gentle side. She didn't mind showing kindness. He'd seen it countless times, even to that young, expectorating coed. She understood, and cared, and wanted only to help.

 _But she won't let anyone help her._

She'd shown her kindness to him, time and again. When he'd first arrived to the BAU, she'd baked him a birthday cake, and looked out for him when Morgan and Elle had insisted on teasing him with self-igniting candles.

 _She even went to that football game with me. How brave was that?!_

She'd shown him her kindness again during that trip to New York, offering to show him around the city, refusing to join in mocking him over his impairment with chopsticks.

And then…

And then, there had been Hankel. That time when they'd separated, and each undergone a severe trauma. Never mind that _his_ had lasted for days, and _hers,_ for seconds. She'd told him, afterward. The trauma of the dogs had been fleeting, but no less soul-shaking. She'd seen what the dogs had done to their last victim, and was terrified of what they might do to her.

That _was her first kill, actually. Those dogs. She'd been defending her life. What choice did she have?_

She'd told him, when he'd been found. Just after he'd taken his own kill shot, the one aimed at Tobias.

 _How does that happen? We're good people, aren't we? But I've taken two lives already. Two! I know I'm supposed to think about the lives I've saved by doing it. But, really, the only life I_ actually _saved was my own. Am I so much more worthy than either of those two men? At least JJ shot Battle to save another agent. That makes her a hero. What do my kills make me?_

It was an old lament, and he shelved it almost as soon as it showed itself.

 _How is it that everything always becomes about you? Aren't you worried about her?_

The young woman sitting across the room, alone, eyes on the floor.

 _She's only shown it to you. For all you know, it's possible Hotch has never even seen it._

Her vulnerability. The tremulousness in her whole body, when she'd embraced him in that graveyard. The quaver she couldn't quite keep from her voice when she'd sat with him in the hospital that night.

 _And, if she'll only show it to you, you need to man up. You need to let her know she can show it again. That it's okay to be shaken._

Realizing, even as the thought passed through his mind, that he hoped she _would_ be shaken. Because, if she wasn't ….

She was a country girl, that much she'd shared with all of them. And she'd been a little at sea, without direction, in college. A lecture by David Rossi had changed that for her, and she'd decided to delve into the world of criminal justice.

He'd asked her about it, once. "How do you prepare for a career like this when you grow up in small town Pennsylvania?"

She'd snorted at him. "As far as I know, we didn't have any murders. But we definitely had unsub material up our way. Repression. Isolation. Every kind of 'ism' you can imagine. When people live in a small town, especially when it's so separated from everything else that seems to be going on, it's easy to develop a healthy…..and an unhealthy….suspicion of others, Spence. Just like it would be easy to play out a fantasy, however benign or violent. I guess we're lucky we didn't spawn a serial killer. But that doesn't mean we were lacking in substrate. No, coming from a small town isn't a liability in this business. I just wish it wasn't so much of an asset."

There didn't look to be any trace of that small town Pennsylvania girl in the woman sitting on the desk. _This_ woman looked calm, collected. Not aggressive. Not apathetic. Not….

Still. _Not still._ It was there for only a second, but Reid was certain he'd seen it. The slightest tremor in her hand, as she'd made an unnecessary attempt to neaten her pony tail.

 _You're in there, after all. I see you.  
_

The woman he'd _thought_ she was. The kind-hearted one. The one who loved, and cared, fiercely enough to take a life for the sake of another. Who was willing to sully her soul, for the sake of another. The woman who would _mourn_ that sullied soul.

He knew he should say something to her. Comfort her, even if she maintained that she didn't need it. He knew her pride would get in the way of her seeking, and accepting, the solace that was so necessary, just now. Some part of him knew that her pride might be the only thing holding her together, this moment.

 _Her_ pride held _him_ back. Kept his feet planted firmly to the ground he stood on, refused to let him move over to her.

 _What are you afraid of? She's not going to bite you. Well, maybe not that hard, anyway._

But he knew she would defend herself, and her right to wallow in peace, even from him.

 _You should have reached out to her yesterday, you fool._

When she'd called him, shaken, from the hospital. When he'd arrived, and she's risen quickly to her feet. For a moment, he'd thought she meant to hug him, to look for comfort in his embrace.

She probably didn't understand why he hadn't responded in kind. And neither did he. Because, without any hint of command from his brain, his arms had remained firmly at his sides, despite his cognitive intention. He'd _wanted_ to embrace her. He'd read her fear, her ever-so-rare openness, her vulnerability. And he'd wanted to hold her. But he hadn't. And now, he could kick himself. Kick his _arms_. Demand from them, to know what they might have been thinking.

 _She needed me. And I held back._ You _held me back._

But then he wondered if, just maybe, his arms held most of his genius. Because he thought she might have looked back on it in anger, as though he'd taken advantage of an impulsive moment. And his limbs had recognized that better than either his heart, or his mind, had. They'd attached themselves solidly to his torso, in defiant disobedience to his emotion.

Still, his torso had seen the need for connection, as had JJ's. They 'd almost run into each other, but for their limbs anchoring their rebellious….and insightful… centers.

Given that experience, it took him a while to summon his courage.

 _She might be angry. She might not like it._

But she needed it, and he knew that. So, whether or not his concern was welcome, he was determined to express it.

While Hotch and Rossi met with IA personnel, and the others chatted among themselves, Reid slowly made his way across the room, trying very hard not to look like he had a destination. But he did have one, and he eventually reached it. JJ sensed his shadow in her light and looked up.

"You okay?" he asked.

She gave him the same smile she'd given Garcia. "Fine."

He'd already decided. So he went for it.

"JJ, you killed a man."

By plan, he stared at her, both eyes wide, unblinking, so he wouldn't miss it, should it appear. And there it was. Just the slightest falter in her eyes, the merest flattening of her smile. To the casual observer, she would have seemed steadfast. Not so to the genius staring at her now.

"JJ…"

"I'm fine."

The fact that she could no longer bring her eyes to meet his spoke volumes. And it encouraged him.

"Well, _I_ wasn't fine, when it happened to me. Hotch and Gideon both told me I'd done the right thing… _.both_ times, actually." He became introspective at that, despite his best intentions. "Sometimes, I can't believe I've actually killed two men. That I've taken two human lives."

Something about his last line seemed to rattle her, and she shifted uncomfortably on her perch, before finally deciding to stand up.

"You took the lives of people who were trying to kill _you_ , Spence. Hotch and Gideon were right."

"I know. But it didn't help me sleep those nights. Nor many nights afterward, either."

He'd caught her gaze, and refused to let it go. Under that intense scrutiny, she couldn't lie to him. So she did the next best thing. She minimized.

"Sleep is overrated."

His smile was sardonic. "Until you haven't had any for a week. Seriously, JJ. If you need someone to talk to….or even if you're just willing to listen to me ramble, to take your mind off it….I'm only a phone call away. Any time. Day or night."

She would have looked much tougher, but for the moisture flooding her eyes.

"I don't think it will be necessary. But….thanks, Spence. I mean it. Thanks."

"I mean it, too. Any time."

Internal Affairs had apparently finished with the brass, and now called JJ into an office for a private interview. Reluctantly, Reid watched the door shut behind her. All he could do now was to pray that they would understand about the circumstances. And that _she_ would understand...about the rest of her life.

* * *

They were in the room for so long that he could no longer appear casual in waiting for her to reappear. Reid had no choice but to leave, and hope to find her relatively intact at their morning meeting. But, before leaving, he made one last salvo. Even if it felt like an act of desperation.

 _I know You and I don't talk very much. That's probably because I'm not sure I believe in You. Who talks to someone who doesn't exist? But…if You're out there….take care of her tonight, please. I don't think any of the rest of us can. Even if she would let us. Which she won't._

He bid goodnight to the others as they all exited the elevator, knowing they would have an instant reminder of the mayhem in the morning. The glass to the door of the BAU wouldn't be replaced until CSI had finished its work.

Once in his apartment, Reid went immediately to the always-in-progress chess game that inhabited his board. He played a few moves, trying his best to conjure up the spirit of Jason Gideon.

 _You told me it would be hard. But you also said you were proud of me. Could you have known I would never be proud of myself?_

He'd not shied away from protecting those he cared about, when necessary. But, since that very first time he'd taken a life, Reid had spent most of his career trying to find ways to save _all_ of the lives involved. _There, but for the grace of God…..  
_

The words were a mantra for the child of a schizophrenic parent.

 _But it was different for JJ. She didn't have a choice. If she'd aimed anywhere else, he might have killed that IA agent. She didn't do it in retribution for Garcia. It was to save a life. I just wonder if_ she _realizes that._

Chess moves notwithstanding, Gideon didn't seem to have any wisdom for him this night. So Reid retired, as he always did, seeking the wisdom of a great author. But the emotion of the few preceding days soon took its toll, and he fell asleep, book tented over his middle, glasses askew on his face.

It was 3:20 AM when he startled awake, his phone vibrating inside his pocket. Reid retrieved it, expecting to see a text calling him in for a case. But he was wrong. It was more important than that. He fumbled himself upright, his trembling fingers requiring two stabs to hit the return number on speed dial. Because the text contained only one word.

SPENCE?

Just before the phone connected, he completed a conversation from earlier in the evening.

 _Thank You._


End file.
